


Pie Noon

by Interrobang



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accountant Hanzo, Alternate Universe - Bakery, M/M, Meddling Friends, baker McCree, basically the entire cast conspires to get them together, my two degrees must be good for something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25668844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobang/pseuds/Interrobang
Summary: Hanzo has only recently started his job as an accountant at a new firm in a new city, and it's turning out to be a hard one. When his co-workers lead him to the bakery across the street, he finds a reprieve from work in the warm atmosphere and a shock of interest in the head baker, Jesse McCree.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 35
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this one brewing for over a year, and someone commissioned the first two chapters from me, so I'm very excited to have it on my block at last!
> 
> I have an AS in culinary arts and I'm currently working on my Bachelor's degree in Business Administration. Might as well use 'em for fanfic.

At first glance, Talon appeared to be an engaging place to work: their interview process had been intense, Akande Ogundimu’s presence commanding and firm at Hanzo’s final interview. They were leaders in their field— and if their field happened to be something that boiled down to a lot of jumbled jargon about innovation and reinventing the wheels of industry, well, Hanzo did not need to be passionate to crunch numbers.

Even their boss had been charming at first, enough so Hanzo had some hope that the company he was heading towards would be more organized than the consultant job he was leaving behind. Indeed, in the short few months he’d been at Talon as an internal auditor, he found it was run very tightly. Almost _too_ tightly, in fact: Hanzo often had to take work home with him just to meet the deadlines, or work through lunch to process the data he needed. 

No one would badmouth their boss directly— except Amelie, who worked in Admin and was fearless— but Hanzo got the general impression that most of his cohorts lived in fear of their leader’s ire. 

It wasn’t without reason. The man had ruined several people’s careers over unsatisfactory work. He was infamous for it. The man Hanzo had replaced would likely be unable to find work in any nearby locale, based on the reach Ogundimu’s network had. Hanzo, who would willingly admit to being a bit too proud of his work and confident in the results he was capable of, found himself wary of the man.

Truly, each day at Talon’s headquarters in the middle of the city was another straw on the camel’s back; though he’d started eager to bring order to his new workplace, after a few months actually _on_ the job, Hanzo wasn’t sure how much more he could take. Today he’d been called into Ogundimu’s office, his in-progress reports in hand, and had practically had them thrown back in his face. The only thing stopping it from being literal was Ogundimu’s quiet restraint as he pointedly set Hanzo’s work down on the desk in front of him. 

Ogundimu looked at him over his oversized desk. It was custom-built, Hanzo suspected, to complement Ogundimu’s intimidating figure. The man leaned on his desk with his hands folded in a way that Hanzo knew was just to make him _appear_ concerned, though the glint in his eyes showed that he was enjoying putting pressure on a peon.

“Are you settling in well, Hanzo?” 

Hanzo considered his words before speaking. This was a man who liked to toy with his food. “I...yes,” he said carefully. “People are very— focused,” he settled on after a moment. “Many have reached out to me to make sure my work is supported.”

“Good, good.” Ogundimu nodded. “The people here are very driven, Hanzo. At your interviews, I thought you would complement our existing team well.” 

Hanzo tensed, bracing himself for the _But._

“But your reports are incomplete.”

“Yes,” Hanzo said, trying not to exhibit any sign of weakness in front of his boss. “I am still sorting through the last person’s filing system. I cannot find a pattern—”

“Sanjay’s work was less than satisfactory, yes, but I expected big things from you,” Ogundimu said, shaking his head. “You came so highly recommended. Do you need assistance?”

“I can handle it,” Hanzo just short of snapped. “I just need more time—”

Ogundimu leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “And I do wish I could give it to you, but Amelie needs the data this week to be able to move us forward with the next phase of this project.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo said, holding back the frustrated sigh that was building in his chest. He’d have to take the work home again, as he’d done the last several nights. The same gut-churning worry that had made him leave his last post started up low in his stomach.

He left Ogundimu’s office with a dark cloud hanging over his head. It had only been a few months. It could get better, or it could get worse. This project would be the deciding factor. There was no time to waste. He went to the lounge, stiffly grabbed his packed lunch, and prepared to take it back to his desk as he had for the last few weeks. 

And immediately ran into Amelie. Beautiful, terrible Amelie, queen of Admin and a sight to behold when on the warpath, but elegant and deadly at all times.

She touched his bicep. “Hanzo.” She tilted her head in the direction of the wall of windows along the front of the office floor. “Come with me.”

Hanzo paused apprehensively, tightening his grip on his lunch. Was he to be admonished _again?_ He stared at his coworker with suspicion. Amelie had been an excellent cohort, and was even becoming a tentative friend, but after Ogundimu had _just_ told him she was behind his deadline... “Why?”

“Come with me and you’ll _see_ ,” Amelie said exasperatedly. She hauled him away by the bicep— she was surprisingly strong, unless you knew her athletic background— and ushered him down the rows of empty cubicles toward the broad window that lined the edges of their vast corporate maze. “Oh, don’t look like I’m taking you out to be shot,” she snapped with a roll of her eyes. “I _am_ trying to be a good friend.”

She pointed towards a small two-story building across the street from their office building: historic, most likely, given its dark brick exterior and aged wrought iron fixtures. A collection of large planters full of flowers lined the front, a slim woman popping between them with a watering can.

“You need to get out of this office before Ogundimu saps your will to live. The best food in this godforsaken city is right across the street, and you are wasting your time on packed lunches every day. Mei, Satya, and I go there every Thursday.” 

“Okay?” Hanzo said, not sure where she was going with this. Was she taunting him?

“What day is today, Hanzo?” Amelie coached him.

“It’s…” Hanzo had to think about it for a second. The days had started to blur together ever since he’d started working overtime. “Tuesday?”

“That is sad even for you, _cherie_. It’s our fated Thursday. Mei and I are going to get lunch. Satya had a private consultation she decided to take to a lunch meeting and we want a third, and in Mei’s words, you are ‘so sad, all by yourself,’” She said, even putting on Mei’s patent worried expression. “You are coming with us.”

“I have a lot of work to do—” Hanzo started. Ogundimu has said Amelie needed the reports this week, and now he had two days _less_ than he’d thought to finish them... 

But Amelie cut him off before he could remind her about the quarterly reports and the missing data he needed to track down. “It was not a question. Put your sad little lunchbox back in the fridge and come get a hot meal with some new friends, Hanzo.” She tilted her head, a hint of warmth in her usually-cold eyes. “I’m not your enemy here.”

Hanzo did the mental math, shrugged, and concluded that his beloved fern, with its miniature grow lamp, could do without an hour of frustrated rambling. If Amelie was taking him to lunch, perhaps things weren’t so bad around here.

— 

“A bakery. You brought me to a bakery,” Hanzo said flatly. “I thought you would have better taste. Something more...refined.”

“Despite its name, it is _very_ refined,” Amelie said with a sniff. “As you would have seen if you had taken my _last_ three invitations to come out.”

“I was too afraid of you, but now that I know you have a weakness for pastry I may never look at you the same again,” Hanzo said, carefully nudging her with his shoulder. 

He was rewarded with a sharp laugh. “They make a chocolate silk pie that I would absolutely kill someone over,” Amelie admitted with a small huff. “It makes the work worth it to be so close during the lunch rush.”

“They make _beautiful_ pastries, Hanzo,” Mei, the more outwardly-friendly of the two women, said with a dreamy sigh. “Their fruit cream tarts are amazing.”

Hanzo had to admit that Pie Noon _was_ a quaint little place, with open ceilings showing off the historic architecture. Hanzo felt himself relax incrementally with every minute that passed inside the bakery. The smell of fresh baked goods and hot coffee permeated the air, and the rhythm of business— a hissing espresso machine, Spanish guitar on the speakers along the wall, the chatter of patrons— was soothing on a deep level. The space itself was all exposed brick, wrought-iron fixtures, and hardwood floors that gave it a kind of turn-of-the-century look, while a comfortable-looking assortment of chairs around the place made it feel more like someone’s living room than a place of business.

The long wooden counter was heavily laden with a number of different pastries and breads— but at least half of it was taken up by a wide variety of pies: hand pies, empanadas, savory and sweet tarts, quiches, pot pies, fruit pies...easily a dozen different kinds, with a chalkboard sign that proudly proclaimed they could be ordered by the bakers dozen and served hot or cold.

“I was expecting a pie or two from the name, but…” Hanzo trailed off amazedly.

“They _specialize_ , in case you couldn’t tell,” Amelie said, her amusement at Hanzo’s reaction showing in the slight tilt of her mouth. 

Mei, pushing them along, laughed. “Oh, you’re going to like this, Hanzo,” she said excitedly. “Look behind the counter.”

“What for?” Hanzo tried to peer over the glass case of pastries at the workstation beyond, but couldn’t see much except an assortment of machinery and a hint of movement.

_“There,”_ Mei said, urging Hanzo closer to the counter and not-so-subtly pointing at a man that had an apron tied around his waist. “That’s the owner.” His forearms were dusted with flour as he kneaded bread dough at a table behind the service counter. Hanzo tried not to get distracted by his determined expression or the way he worked the dough with confidence. 

Amelie laughed. “You were right, Mei, he _does_ appear to enjoy the view.”

“You planned this?” Hanzo asked incredulously.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Mei said with a twinkle in her eye. “Eye candy can’t sustain us forever though, so let’s order!” Mei said, ushering the two of them into line. 

After waiting in line for long enough that Hanzo genuinely worried about the amount of time he’d have left to eat, he was finally brought up to the front. He stared at the offerings, not quite sure what he wanted.

“We have some specials today,” the spritely cashier informed him. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Nothing too heavy,” Hanzo said, eyeing the line of hand pies and quiches.

“He’ll have the veggie tart,” Mei said, patting Hanzo on the shoulder. “It’s a good place to begin,” she assured him with a whisper. 

He looked around as he waited for Amelie and Mei to make their own orders. The baker in the back had shifted away from his dough to a cramped service area, apparently pulling orders out of the oven to be sent to patrons. He dashed back and forth from work area to tables, smiling the whole time.

Hanzo watched him for a bit while Mei and Amelie caught up on their gossip. The man was tall, broad about the shoulders with strong arms, and he looked, on the surface, to be engrossed in his work. Between running orders he folded and kneaded the dough in front of him vigorously, scooping each pillowy piece up like something precious before patting it into a bowl, presumably to do some other important part of the bread process, before moving on to the next section of dough or the next order.

Another employee— this time a man somehow even _larger_ than the purported owner— ducked in from somewhere out of sight and comically shooed him away from the workstation. The balls of dough looked tiny in the new man’s hands, and indeed he was much more efficient with the dough. But instead of leaving the kitchen entirely, the man Mei had said was the owner scrubbed and dried his hands vigorously before grabbing a tray, waltzing out from around the display case and heading directly over to their group’s table.

“Oh, he’s coming over here, look away!” Mei said with a giggle, patting Hanzo’s shoulder anxiously. 

Startled, Hanzo straightened in his seat, fighting a flush. 

“Who ordered the goat cheese and veggie tart?” the man asked, flashing the same smile Hanzo had seen him give other customers. Up close it looked a lot more brittle than it had looked from afar. There were bags under his eyes, too, as if he hadn’t been rested in many days. “Squash and mushroom, if that helps? I think we’re out of the asparagus.”

Hanzo raised his hand, reaching out halfway to grab the plate from the man. Their hands brushed, and Hanzo had to fight back a flinch. 

“And the quiche, madame,” the man said with a flourish to Amelie, who smiled at him far more warmly than Hanzo had been privy to. 

“Jesse, you need to take a break,” Mei cut in. “Why are you waiting tables?”

The man— Jesse, apparently— shrugged and handed off the last plate, a panini of some sort, to her— and said, “Staff’s tight. Got a big event today, you know?”

“You need your sleep, _cherie_ ,” Amelie said kindly. “We need you in top form. Where else am I going to find pain au chocolate as flaky in this town if you die of exhaustion?”

“Ah, women, only concerned so far as what they need of you,” Jesse mock-griped with a wink to Hanzo. “I’ll take a nap and be in shipshape in no time,” he assured the girls. 

Hanzo watched, unsure how to add to the conversation, and dug into his tart. It was delicious— creamy tart goat cheese layered with paper-thin zucchini, summer squash, and mushroom made a dense, colorful bite. He couldn’t help the approving hum that came out of his mouth.

Jesse grinned. “New here?” he asked. “Where’s Miss Vaswani, anyway?”

“Business over pleasure today, I’m afraid,” Amelie informed him. “But we brought our newest friend today. I am trying not to scare him away.”

Hanzo flushed and quickly stuffed another bite of tart into his mouth so he didn’t have to speak. 

Jesse turned his gaze on him.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Always happy to have a new fan. I’m _assuming_ you’re a fan, the way you’re scarfing that down,” he said with a chuckle that forced Hanzo to look at the laugh lines at the corners of the man’s warm brown eyes. 

“Mm-hrm,” Hanzo agreed around a mouthful of food. He looked away.

“Well, we’ve got to cement that!” Jesse said with a laugh. “Come grab something for an afternoon snack on the way out. Consider it my treat. Lena knows the drill.”

Hanzo nodded, throat suddenly too dry to speak despite the mouth-watering food in front of him. 

“He’s shy,” Mei said in a stage whisper.

“So I see,” Jesse laughed, and moved on.

After a beat, in which Hanzo desperately prayed that the girls would let it go in favor of their own lunches, Mei poked Hanzo’s shoulder with a teasing smile.

“I’ve never seen you like that, Hanzo!” she giggled. “What happened to our headstrong auditor?” 

“Lunch,” Hanzo muttered, taking a long sip of his drink. “Women. I don’t know.”

He watched McCree murmur to the cashier — Lena, he supposed — and point at a scone emphatically before bagging it up, placing it on the counter, and shooting him a finger gun and a wink.

Hanzo looked away, unable to stop the smile that spread over his face as he started in on the rest of his plate. 

— 

“Ogundimu tells me you need my reports by the end of the week,” Hanzo said as they walked back to the office. “I’m afraid I’m a bit behind. The data I have been able to scrounge is extremely inconsistent.”

“Sanjay was always a disorganized fool,” Amelie said with a curl of her lip. “But don’t worry; we have a couple weeks before the window closes on this deal.”

“Really?” Hanzo said, apprehension growing in his gut. “I was told they were needed in the next couple days.”

“Hanzo…” Mei said, obviously choosing her words carefully. “Ogundimu is...he’s a fantastic businessman. He, um.” She paused, considering her phrasing. “Is _very_ efficient. And the company’s been doing really well since he took over. But…” 

“He’s a bastard,” Amelie said, inspecting her impeccable nails. “Cruel, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. And while he rarely lies, he does incredible things with his phrasing to make sure the nuance is understood.”

“Hmm.” Hanzo turned the ideas over in his head. “When do you actually need the reports?”

“Not as soon as Ogundimu has said, but you should attempt to get them in soon anyway. He expects the impossible of all of us.”

“ _Don’t_ turn them in early, though,” Mei added hurriedly. “I did my forecasts in record time once, and ever since he’s expected that _every_ time.”

Hanzo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a growing headache. “I see.”

“Welcome to Talon,” Amelie said consolingly, patting Hanzo’s shoulder. “It only gets worse from here.”

At least he had a free pastry to look forward to. He’d put it in his bag for safekeeping, intending to have it for an afternoon snack.

— 

Back in his cubicle, Hanzo’s stress revved itself back up from the brief lull of lunchtime. Whatever system the old accountant had been filing under, it was nearly incomprehensible to Hanzo. He worked through the rest of the day, shuffling papers and scrolling through data until he could somewhat organize it to his liking. He still had to look over the last fiscal year’s reports, trying to figure out just what goals the last person had been working with. There were massive discrepancies throughout many of the reports: profit margins were favorable, but the overhead budget was extremely bloated, a number of very vague classifications for purchases Hanzo couldn’t identify peppered throughout. 

At last, he gave up, heading home for the day. He toed off his shoes by his door, shrugging off his suit jacket and tie and unbuttoning his shirt before collapsing on his couch with his previously-abandoned packed lunch. There was no sense in wasting perfectly good food. He flipped through the dramas available to stream for a bit, contemplating the work he still had ahead of him. 

But he groaned as he pulled out his portfolio of work for the night, a spill of sugary crumbs following the papers. The scone! He rubbed his eyes and shook the papers free of crumbs, resigning himself to having to wash his bag that weekend. He could really have used the sugar boost, if only he hadn’t forgotten about the pastry he’d stuffed into the bottom of his bag after lunch.

The next morning, Hanzo woke early, did his morning calisthenics, and packed his mostly-crumb-free bag. His body felt heavy despite his stretching and warm-up. He’d stayed up late with the data last night trying to figure out the charges to overhead that feasibly should have been allocated to actual departmental budgets. He was starting to see a pattern, and he didn’t like it.

He shook himself briskly before getting dressed. He’d deal with work when he _got_ to work. But he had somewhere to be before that. 

Pie Noon was warm and sun-washed when he walked through the door that morning. The tall windows let in morning sun, lighting up the high ceilings and hardwood floors. It was still slow here, the other patrons, like him, still waking up. Most were quietly standing in line, though a few were seated around the place either alone or in small clusters of two or three at the scattered tables.

“Is Jesse in this morning?” Hanzo asked the barista as he placed his order. “I did not get to the scone in time— this is a replacement,” Hanzo added. “I wanted to thank him for the original.”

The short woman— Lena, her name tag said— smiled apologetically. “Not today, love. He’ll be pleased to know you’re back, though!” she said brightly. “‘Fraid I have to charge you for this one, but grab a cup of coffee on the way out to go with it.”

Hanzo frowned. Did they do that for everyone? “Thank you.”

He grabbed his coffee as he waited for his scone to be warmed up. The coffee was self-service, free refills of five different roasts and a plethora of different accompaniments next to it, including 6 different flavored syrups. Hanzo frowned again. Though he appreciated it as a customer (though he preferred his coffee roasted dark and served black) it seemed like a lot to keep up with, and to keep stocked. As he fiddled with the top to his cup, he watched a young woman with headphones blasting pop up and squirt so much hazelnut syrup into her cup that there was practically as much sugar as coffee in it. 

He mentally shrugged, sipping the coffee— smooth, rich, dark as he needed it— and took a seat in one of the plush chairs by a tall window. He was still early for work. He could afford a few minutes with a good cup of coffee, a warm pastry, and a bit of morning sunshine. 

He sighed as he basked in the quickly-warming morning light. It was still cool out these days, though spring was coming fast. He willed his brow to unwrinkle, stretching his facial muscles as he tried to shake off the preemptive stress that came from thinking about how much work he had to do. 

Halfway through his cup, Lena popped by with his scone on a disposable plate, steaming lightly. 

“There you go, love,” she said as she set it on the little table in the center of the chair arrangement. “That should taste better than day-old crumbs.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hanzo said with a nod. He paused, making a split second decision as Lena turned to head back behind the counter. “When does Jesse usually work? I would still like to thank him for the meal.”

“You just missed him,” Lena said apologetically. “He runs odd hours. I’d say he’s a night owl, but I think he’s just devoted to his craft. He’s night shift.”

“Night shift?” Hanzo asked. “But you close at eight.”

“Baker’s shift!” Lena said with a laugh. “Midnight to seven, sometimes eight if they’re behind. Fresh bread doesn’t bake itself!” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Hanzo said, something clicking into place. “Why was he here yesterday, then, if he had to be here at night as well?” 

“Well,” Lena said seriously, “someone ordered six hundred empanadas for a wedding, so he was here all night, and then after delivery we still had work to do for regular business. In fact, it’s only so cozy in here now because the ovens are still cooling. Rein’s in the back working on fillings right now for tonight’s work.”

“Hm…” Hanzo hummed in thought as he took a bite of his scone. “Hm!” He chewed in surprise. The scone was tender and sweet, bright notes of orange zest playing with plump, tart cranberries.

“That’s what I like to see!” Lena said, giggling. “Better than lifeless packaged stuff, yeah?”

Hanzo nodded emphatically, washing down his bite with another swig of coffee. “It’s excellent.”

“Fresh this morning,” she said proudly.

“I am only more determined to thank Jesse now,” Hanzo said with a laugh. “I could not have asked for a better start to my day.”

Lena beamed. “He’ll be happy to hear that. If you can make it in before seven sometime, you might even be able to tell him that yourself!”

Hanzo thought that over as he dug into the rest of his treat, Lena skipping away to take care of another customer. He would happily change his routine if it meant a fresh breakfast quiche at the end of his jog. The fact that Jesse might be there to greet him too was just a bonus.


	2. Chapter 2

.

That weekend, Hanzo changed his jogging path to include Pie Noon. With no day at the office looming over him, he took a leisurely route through the city, wiping a sheen of sweat off his forehead as he entered the bakery and relaxed into its homey ambiance.

It being a Saturday meant the bakery was even busier than usual, the front of the shop packed with tourists and other people running errands around the city. Lena zipped back and forth between the case with bagels and tarts and sugar-crusted empanadas for everyone who asked, while the same large man from last time handled any more complicated dishes in the service corner that held all the prep equipment, his giant hands assembling sandwiches that looked like miniatures in his palms. Somewhere in the back a third figure called out drink orders, her voice loud even over the hissing, squealing espresso machine.

The employees didn’t have time for more than a cursory greeting for Hanzo, but it was still nice to be able to grab a hot meal after his run. He was able to drink his fill of dark, rich coffee as he watched the other patrons queue up. The same girl with the apparent sugar addiction from yesterday was there again, filling the latte handed to her with more than the normal amount of syrup— raspberry the victim of choice today, apparently.

She headed back to her table, where she had— Hanzo balked— an entire computer set-up, seemingly streaming herself from a mobile studio in the front corner of the bakery, not far from Hanzo’s own seat. She’d completely taken over a high-backed chair and the table in front of it, a large bag (likely for all her equipment) on the other chair. 

Hanzo watched her settle into her set-up with an incredulous shake of his head while he relaxed with his coffee and something Lena had called an egg-in-a-basket— a croissant with the center cut out and a fresh egg baked in the center, still slightly runny in the middle. Hanzo dunked the top of the croissant in the egg as he relaxed into what he was coming to think of as ‘his’ chair.

“Doing alright?” Hanzo overheard Lena asked when she zipped by the girl’s table. “A quad’s a lot for a lunchtime drink, Hana.”

“My fingers need the speedy bean juice,” the girl said, wiggling her fingers at Lena with a grin. “People are loving my new studio, b-t-dubs.”

“Wi-fi’s fast enough?”

The girl shrugged. “Good enough for what I need to do. I’ve got a mobile hot-spot if I need it.”

Lena nodded, waving at Hanzo on her way back to the counter.

Hanzo idly watched her for a few long minutes as he munched on his breakfast. She appeared to be fully immersed in whatever was going on on her warhorse of a laptop’s screen, lights flashing over her face as she occasionally laughed at something in front of her. Every now and then she threw back a swig of her syrup-espresso atrocity, fingers seeming to speed up incrementally with every sip.

“Do you...do this a lot?” Hanzo dared to ask her when she finally looked like she was taking a break, gesturing at the girl’s complicated laptop-studio arrangement with the remains of his croissant. 

“Yes. Natural light is king, and my apartment has like one window,” she said suspiciously. “Why?”

“I’ve just...never seen someone bring an entire gaming setup anywhere public,” Hanzo said as plainspokenly as he could. “It’s impressive.”

“Glad you went for ‘impressive’ instead of ‘excessive,’” the girl said with an approving nod. “Or I would have asked you if you brought your workout funk with you everywhere.”

Hanzo balked, then let a smile split his face. “Brave words from a woman with the eyes of a feral sugar glider. How much caffeine have you had today?”

The girl broke down into peals of laughter, sticking her hand out to shake. “I’m Hana. You’ve been in here a few times, right?”

“Hanzo. Consider me a fresh convert to the world of pie,” Hanzo admitted with a grin, shaking her hand firmly. “The staff seem familiar with you.”

“I’m here a lot. This is my unofficial office,” Hana explained. “I stream my own stuff when I have time, and I do their social media on the side.” She grinned conspiratorially. “I’ve been _trying_ to get Jesse to let me stream a night in the back, but he said there’s some proprietary stuff he doesn’t want the public to see. I think he’s just worried people will catch him singing Shania Twain and no one will take his business seriously ever again.”

Hanzo fought a snort of laughter. At some point he was _going_ to have to greet this man properly. “Good thing you’re here to make sure that never reaches the outside, then.”

“On the contrary!” Hana said with a giggle. “I think the whole _world_ needs to see it. What kind of man spends all his money building a bakery, names it after a _terrible_ pun, and then doesn’t want to share that with the public? A fool, that’s who.”

Hanzo toasted her with his coffee cup. “To fools, then. I look forward to your efforts, Hana.”

— 

After, he walked back to his apartment. He would have completed the second half of his morning routine as another run, but he was reluctant to jostle his full belly. Besides, the city was alive with people and cars and animals, all on their way to move the world, and it was nice to finally have the time and energy to observe the art, architecture, and energy of the city. 

He felt more prepared than ever to face Ogundimu and his work when he entered the foyer of the office Monday morning. He was rested, he’d had a good breakfast, and the rush of endorphins from a good morning workout still ran through his veins.

Of course, his good mood was broken as soon as he stepped foot into the elevator.

“Akande is looking for you,” Satya informed him as the doors closed behind him. 

Hanzo fought back a groan, instead letting out a restrained sigh. He missed the warmth and comfort of the bakery already. 

“Do you have any idea what he wants?” he asked as he watched the floors tick by.

“To terrorize you, I suspect,” Satya said with a curl of her lip. She tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear. “He has been especially...mmm, I will say _bullish..._ these last few weeks.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo said sardonically. “One would almost think his words about valuing my work are nothing but insincere fluff, the way he looks at my reports.”

“If everyone performs their function, victory will be yours,” Satya said evenly, tucking a stray strand of her bun behind one ear. “Put the pressure on, if need be.” Hanzo felt the beginnings of a smile on his face as the elevator dinged to a stop at their floor. That was as encouraging as the acquisitions officer would get, but it was still appreciated.

Akande’s office door was open when Hanzo passed it on his way to his cubicle. He studiously did not meet the manager’s piercing gaze as he walked by, his grip on his briefcase tight.

He stopped at his desk, setting down his bag to unpack the work he’d done the night before at home. Feeling a bit defiant, he took his time tending to his desk plant and arranging his work space, the tiniest action of resistance he could come up with. He huffed a sigh before straightening his back to its usual rigid line and heading to Akande’s office.

Once again, the man was waiting for him, his posture much like a lion sure that it would succeed in its hunt.

“Are you well, Shimada?”

Hanzo steeled himself for the battering. "Yes, sir."

"I know we only spoke last week, but we need that audit finished as soon as possible. And the reports for Amelie— you are behind on your analysis of the data provided by her contacts."

Hanzo grit his teeth, trying to keep his composure. It was too obvious a ploy to pit the lower-level teams against each other. "My apologies,” he said stiffly. “I had thought Friday was the last of that particular project."

“Far from it, Shimada. I can assign someone to help you... _focus,_ if needed,” Akande offered, raising one eyebrow. “Someone to take over sections of the broader work so you may hone in on the important details.”

Hanzo paused, thinking of the suspicious arrangements of charges he’d run into over the last week.

“Unnecessary,” Hanzo said quickly. “I am simply— simply trying to be thorough,” he finished lamely. “I will have the data this afternoon.” It would be sparse, but sufficient. “And I— I will have the audit done soon.”

“Hm.” Akande leaned back in his chair, leaning on one giant fist. “If you believe you can get the work done, I trust you. But do not disappoint me, Shimada.”

“I will do my best,” Hanzo said, resisting the urge to bow. Instead he nodded, backing out of Akande’s office before the man could get another barb in.

He rolled his head to stretch his neck as he shut the door behind him. He wished dearly for the relaxation of his peaceful weekend. Sighing, he grabbed a mug of somehow-already-stale coffee from the lounge and stood by the broad stripe of windows along the front of the office, though he knew he should not. It would look like he was taking yet another break. Akande was likely watching him right now, either with his own eyes or through others’.

He sighed and stared out the window. Pie Noon was thriving across the street in its old building. Lena was out front watering the pots of flowers that sat in front of the main door, greeting the numerous people now trickling into the bakery for the mid-morning rush.

He would have to stay late to finish his work today— though not ideal, it was preferable to bringing his work home with him once again. If one of the girls was still here, they could order dinner in and complain to their hearts’ content while they finished for the day. Perhaps it would not be so terrible...

— 

When at last he left the office (parting ways in the foyer with a similarly tired Mei), the sun was already going down, casting long shadows over the street where the lamps were just starting to flicker on. He just needed to grab dinner to go and call a ride to take him home, and he’d be done for the day. His walk meant he passed Pie Noon, its doors shut and the lights off except for a distant glow illuminating the empty kitchen. 

As he passed the narrow alley to the side of the place however, Hanzo paused. There was a small refrigerated truck backed into the alley, a number of groans and other noises of struggle coming from behind it. 

He should have left. But if it was Lena— well, she wasn’t exactly built for heavy labor, and it was getting dark. Hanzo peeked around the truck. 

"Is all well?" he called out, still standing on the sidewalk a distance away.

"Huh? That you, Rein?" Was the only response he got before a disheveled head of brown hair popped out from the truck back. "Oh. Hey, you're the guy from last week. Veggie tart.” Jesse brushed down his checkered shirt, dusting off dried onion skins and scraps of cardboard. “Sorry, we're closed for the day. Open back up again at five tomorrow."

"I am aware," Hanzo said dryly. He stepped a little closer. There was a hand truck set near piles of ingredients: bushels of peaches, huge sacks of different flours, and three cases labeled "eggs, brown, grade AA" that were large enough to make Hanzo wonder just how many they went through at once. "Delivery? So late in the day?"

"Yup," Jesse said, a hint of frustration in his voice. "We're the last stop on his route, and I guess he got held up earlier. Just got here."

"And…" Hanzo looked around. "You are unloading the whole thing yourself? Where is the driver?"

"Off taking a smoke break around the back, I suspect,” Jesse replied with a note of frustration. “Won't help unload— it's a liability thing," he added, rolling his eyes. He wiped the sheen of sweat off his face with his shirt, revealing a sliver of a hairy belly that Hanzo most definitely did not hone in on with laser focus. "It's alright. I'm here early and nothing’s really been started yet. Won't _get_ started until this is all put away."

Hanzo, apprehensive, eyed the mountain of goods Jesse was still unloading even as he talked. 

"Do you...want help?" Hanzo asked carefully. He shifted his grip on his bag. 

"I've got it," Jesse said, hefting the last massive case of eggs onto the hand truck. "Team'll be in soon. They can put it away. I've just got to get it in."

"Let me help you," Hanzo insisted. It was forward of him, but he could not in good conscience leave the man to struggle by himself. "If you can get it out of the truck, I can help carry it in. "

Jesse eyed him speculatively. "You sure? Some of these things are pretty heavy.”

Hanzo removed his suit jacket and began rolling up his sleeves. "Consider it thanks for a free meal last week, and preemptive thanks for many more good meals to come. I am more than capable, I assure you.” 

He ignored Jesse's stare. Was it the tattoo? It was always the tattoo. Nobody expected an accountant to have a full sleeve of whirling, angry dragons. He loosened his tie as well, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. He dropped his bag against the wall and walked over to the stacks of large bags of potatoes and onions, hefting one over each shoulder. 

"Where do these go?"

"Uh," McCree floundered. "Inside, cart on the left by the Hobart."

Hanzo located the cart easily enough, though he wasn't sure exactly which huge machine next to it was the so-called Hobart. 

He looked around the kitchen. The lights above were warm and bright, casting the kitchen into a cozy glow despite the encroaching darkness outside. It was somewhat surreal being on this side of the displays. Peeking over the tops of the display, he could just barely make out his favorite chair in the darkened corner of the shop. It felt a bit forbidden, being on this side of the display. And he supposed it was, in a way. He didn’t truly belong here.

He headed back out, passing Jesse on the way.

"Careful with the flour," Jesse warned him. "That brand is finicky. Heavy, and the bag is—"

Hanzo nodded as Jesse spoke, grunting as he heaved the sack up, making to throw it over his his shoulder. Fifty pounds was nothing. He lifted more in his morning workouts.

The bag immediately tore, spilling a cloud of fine pastry flour all over Hanzo’s clothes and head. 

“--fragile,” Jesse finished, his mouth quirked like he was trying not to laugh at Hanzo’s shocked expression.

Hanzo paused, carefully setting the remains of the bag back down on the pallet so it wouldn’t spill any more. "Perhaps I am not being as helpful as I intended to be," he said carefully. He coughed, dusting himself off as best he could. He could feel the grit of flour in his beard.

Jesse let out a warm laugh, eyes bright as he took in Hanzo’s flour-dusted body. "I did warn you. Here, let me put away the perishables and then we can clean you up.”

Hanzo awkwardly stood around as he waited for Jesse to pull in the crate of peaches and walk over to a huge silver door in the wall. He opened it, and Hanzo had just a second to glance at the largest refrigerator he’d ever seen before Jesse ducked back out, hauling what were apparently— bags?-- of milk into crates. A huge case labeled “CHKN B/S BST” followed, dropped to the bottom shelf with much groaning. 

At last, Jesse stood straight, cracked his back with a quick twist, and dusted off his hands before heading over to a door at the back of the kitchen. 

“This way,” Jesse urged him, laughing when Hanzo stood up straight and brushed more flour off his face after being caught staring. 

Jesse led him through the door to a back hallway. At one end was a door for a restroom and a door to a supply closet where Jesse plunked a crate of neatly-stacked and starched hand towels; on the other was yet another door, which opened onto a dark, steep stairwell. 

There he led Hanzo up the creaking, narrow stairs. There was little light back here, but Hanzo felt weirdly safe following Jesse up into the dark. Where the public side of the bakery looked very much like a lot of love and effort had been put into cleaning it up, here the building showed its older roots. Some of the bricks were chipped in places, in a few instances missing entirely, showing an old wooden frame or a piece of pipe. 

“How old is this building?” Hanzo mused as he passed a mass of dusty, abandoned cobwebs in the corner of the tiny upper landing. “It does not quite fit with the rest of the city’s architecture.”

“Goes back to probably, oh, late 19th century?” Jesse said as he fiddled with his keys. “Used to be a firehouse, back in the day. Front of the shop used to be the truck bay; glassed that up with a fine front window and door when we moved in. Wasn’t in great shape at first.”

“It must have cost a fortune to refit,” Hanzo said wondrously. 

“A bit,” Jesse acquiesced as he turned the key in the padlock. “But it was worth it, I’d say…”

The room he led Hanzo into was warm, well-lit with lamps once Jesse flipped a few switches. The ceilings were slanted down like an A-frame, low at the front end but high and arching along the central wall that bisected the loft space. A beat-up couch filled one corner, surrounded by plank-and-brick shelves stacked heavily with books. The coffee table in front of the cluster was similarly covered in books and paperwork, and a fair number of half-full cups and mugs as well as an ashtray with a stub of a cigarillo in it were scattered over its surface. Set into the slanted roof was a wide gable window— the same one Hanzo could see from his office— currently cracked open, with a number of small potted plants along its lip. 

Hanzo followed Jesse curiously as the man pulled him past a small kitchenette. It was all very new, though small. The only thing that seemed out of place was the run-down refrigerator, far less impressive than the big walk-in downstairs. A smattering of postcards and fridge poetry covered its front, the words “SOMETHING WITTY AND POIGNANT” hastily placed in the center, making Hanzo stifle a laugh.

Jesse's bedroom was the same size as the living room and kitchen combined, clearly the other side of the A-frame roof. It slanted down from high eaves on the close wall to the floor on the far, with a window-seat nook set into the far wall looking over a streetlight-lit alleyway. 

“I’ve got some spare shirts that should fit you around here somewhere,” Jesse said, stepping past the unmade bed towards a dresser that was already open and spilling fabric everywhere, as if Jesse had dressed in a hurry. “Might be a bit tight about the shoulders,” he said, squinting at Hanzo’s physique in a way that made him flush. “But I reckon it’ll keep together until you get home.”

“My thanks,” Hanzo said as he stripped off his button-up. His fingers fumbled on each button, suddenly unsure. He felt distinctly that he shouldn’t be here, doing this. “I overstepped. And now I am imposing; thank you for your hospitality.”

“You helped me, and I’m helping you,” Jesse said, a queer look passing over his face as he pulled up a dark green shirt consideringly. “Here. Brigitte left this one behind ages ago. Should fit you fine. Think you’re a bit broader than my shirts would go.”

Ah. A girlfriend, then. Hanzo tried not to let his sinking hopes show on his face. What had he expected, really? They’d hardly exchanged words; it wasn’t like he’d had any chance to begin with.

“Ah— wait a sec,” Jesse said, dashing over to a small door set next to his dresser. He came back with a damp towel, handing it over to Hanzo and gesturing at his head. 

“My thanks,” Hanzo said. He wiped the remains of flour off his neck and face, shaking out his hair from its neat tie to try and coax the remnants out of that, as well.

Relatively clean and dry once again, Hanzo slipped the t-shirt on over his undershirt, surprised when it was roomy in the shoulders. Whoever this Brigitte was, she must have been built like a truck. Hanzo himself was not a tall man, but he had a very dedicated upper-body routine.

“That’s a good look for you,” Jesse said through a shit-eating grin when Hanzo turned back around. His voice was strained. Hanzo frowned. Perhaps he was regretting giving a stranger his girlfriend’s clothes. “Probably wouldn’t wear that one back to the office, though.”

Hanzo looked down at the shirt. “BRUNSWICK BRATWURST-EATING CHAMPION” was emblazoned across his chest, the text surrounding the image of a giant sausage in the center of it. 

“Do I not look like I could swallow giant sausages whole?” Hanzo asked as deadpan as he dared, one eyebrow arching high. “I’ll have to work on my presentation.” He allowed himself a small, smug chuckle when Jesse’s face flushed red and he looked up high into the ceiling as if inspecting it for leaks. “Though I have worn worse for my morning jogs. My brother has a penchant for finding the most ridiculous clothes possible for me when he travels.”

“Mm- _hm!”_ Jesse said, hiding his growing grin with a hand clamped over his mouth.

Hanzo neatly folded his work shirt, carefully holding on to it as he followed Jesse back out into the main living space of the loft. He eyed the light fixtures along the walls and hanging from the high ceiling. The wood floors— they looked like they could have been the original boards— creaked slightly under his feet as he took a few steps into the living room. 

“It must have taken some effort to renovate this place,” Hanzo said as he looked around. The plaster walls looked new, unblemished and bright compared to the pock-marked brick around them. The wood above in the gables looks sturdy and whole, too, not as worn as he might have expected from a hundred-year-old firehouse.

“It’s an attic apartment,” Jesse said with a shrug. “Put up a couple walls, redo the piping and electrical with the rest of the place; it all came together pretty easy, but it’s not big enough for much more than myself and my bed. Good commute time, though,” he added with a grin. 

Hanzo nodded, laughing softly. “Indeed. Even better than mine.”

“Where do you live, then?” Jesse asked. “If you’re jogging in the area, it can’t be far.”

“A few miles from here, on the outskirts of the city proper,” Hanzo said with a wave of his hand. “Jogging here is easy. The difficult part is trying to shower in my office gym’s single stall before work. It has very weak water pressure, and spotty heat.”

“Ah,” Jesse said knowingly. “They couldn’t’ve sprung for something nicer? It seems like a very uh...high-caliber building. Lots of flash on the exterior.”

“I do not think they actually expected anyone to use the gym,” Hanzo said with a shrug, thinking of the glass and concrete facade of the building he worked in. “I have never been joined there by any of my colleagues.”

“Well,” Jesse said, drawing the word out like he wasn’t sure he wanted to finish his thought. “If you’re ever _very_ early, and you catch me before I pass out after night shift, feel free to knock and use mine.”

“Oh?” Hanzo said, hiding his flush by turning and pretending to inspect the stacks of books on Jesse’s shelves. _Garlic Garlic Garlic: A Collection of 200 Exceptional Recipes_ and _Pastry Through the Ages: From Suet To Shortening_ caught his eye before he looked away. “That is...very kind of you.” He wouldn’t take advantage. He couldn’t. That would be too much. 

“Don’t mention it,” Jesse insisted. 

Eventually, Hanzo followed Jesse back down the rickety stairway to the kitchen proper, his bag, suit jacket, and shirt in hand. More at ease now and less worried about his clothes, Hanzo did help bring in the remainder of the dry goods, including the worrisome sack of flour. He helped Jesse empty that sack into a large plastic tub against one wall that held the remnants of a previous case. It was set next to several others, each labeled with words like “pastry, fine” or “bread, high protein.”

When Hanzo looked around, this back portion of the bakery seemed even more technical than he’d expected. There was a huge stainless steel mixer-- which Hanzo could now see proudly displayed its brand name, Hobart, on the base— and a collection of scales lined up on a rolling cart. A stack of what looked like inverted straw hats sat on one counter, and a frankly massive tub of something wet and bubbly on the main table simply labeled “MOTHER” piqued his curiosity, but he was too afraid to ask about it. When surreptitiously sniffed, it smelled astoundingly sour.

He and Jesse finished bringing things in from the alley just as the sun went down fully, leaving them in the warm, dimly-lit safety of the kitchen. 

“Team’ll be in soon, if you want to stay and meet them,” Jesse offered, looking hopeful. “It’s a whole different world here after dark.”

Hanzo hesitated. On the one hand, it seemed like a fascinating experience. And it would allow him to learn more about this man that clearly lived for his work. 

On the other, he had had a very long day and had a longer night ahead of him. He still wanted to investigate the overhead accounts in private, and that meant setting up at home with his briefcase and laptop.

“Best not to,” Hanzo said reluctantly at last. He nodded deeply, his bag and clothes in hand, and turned to the door. “Thank you again. I will try to return the shirt as soon as I am able.”

“No trouble. I should be thanking you.” Jesse paused, biting his lip for a second before he asked, “See you in the morning for coffee? Or maybe a hot sweetroll? It’s on me.”

“Is this where I say you’ve been sweet enough already?” Hanzo blurted against his better judgement. He began shuffling towards the door immediately, appalled that he’d actually said it. 

To his surprise, Jesse gave a hearty belly-laugh, grinning at Hanzo in the lamp-light of the alleyway. “Keep it up and I’ll throw in lunch, too, sweet-talker.”

Hanzo threw his bag over his shoulder, flushing from ears to toes as he shut the door behind him.

His face fell as soon as he rounded the corner. 

Flirting with Jesse should have felt totally harmless. The girls at work had made such a big fuss over bringing Hanzo to the bakery, and Jesse was so nice, that Hanzo felt like it would have been rude _not_ to flirt a little bit. But the man clearly already had a partner— so as fun as the flirting had been, the part of Hanzo that hoped for more also knew that it would not lead to anything other than perhaps a friendly rapport with the local baker. 

Something in him twisted bitterly at the idea.

**Author's Note:**

> For more info about what I'm writing and any updates/progress reports, come check me out on twitter as @GoInterrobang.


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